


Advent XV

by Tammany



Series: Assorted Advent Stories, Christmas 2014, All-sorts, some connected. [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent, Christmas Morning, Fluff, Gen, Texting, The Woman - Freeform, Women Being Awesome, women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2749064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tammany/pseuds/Tammany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a good boy--for a change. His Christmas call to the missing women in his life.</p><p> </p><p>I had fun with this. They are all so different, and have such different relationships with Sherlock....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advent XV

Sherlock woke up and found himself caught between a smile and a scowl.

He was still at Holmescroft. For Christmas, With his family. And…with Janine. Definitely grounds for a scowl, there, not even taking into account bloody damned Mycroft shooting the tyre of the Rover—bloody Mycroft bloody shooting the bloody damned Rover!

Definitely reason to scowl.

But—he was at Holmescroft, in the little room he’d slept in during Christmases here as a child, and the family was here, and John and Mary and Baby Em, and they weren’t fighting—well, besides he and Mycroft, and he couldn’t ask for miracles, particularly if he was the one who was going to sabotage them, after all. And Janine was here.

Definitely reason to smile.

He stretched, and then remembered. He had calls to make before the day swept him away.

He rolled over and grabbed his phone off the night stand, quickly typing in a message.

_Happy Christmas, Molly. SH_

_Sherlock? Is that you? Happy Christmas!_

_Who else would it be? SH_

_I don’t know. Isn’t it a lovely Christmas?_

_I’ve only just woken up. But I was up earlier. Mycroft shot the tyre of my Rover. SH_

_He did? You have a Rover? Why?_

_Because he’s a rubbish brother and he’s keeping me captive in the family estate. SH_

_Really?_

_Really. SH_

_Do I need to send for help? Maybe Greg can talk him down._

_I’m afraid Greg’s fraternizing with the enemy. SH_

_Is that what you call it?_

_Shame, Molly. In any case, I doubt Greg will help. SH_

_What about John or Mary?_

_Alas, their sympathies have been coopted. SH_

_Sherlock—what were you doing?_

_What? Why do you ask? SH_

_Because John and Mary wouldn’t back up Mycroft unless you were being…naughty. Not nice._

_I was trying to spare them all my insufferable company over Christmas day. SH_

_Oh. Bugging out on the party. Ok. That makes sense. I’d shoot out your tyre, too._

_No. You wouldn’t. SH_

_No. I wouldn’t. But I wish I would. It would be nice to be the kind of person who shoots out tyres._

_No. It wouldn’t. You wouldn’t like it at all. SH_

_No. I probably wouldn’t. But I can dream, can’t I?_

_Yes. You can dream. Are you having a good Christmas? SH_

_Yes. Weekend with my Mum. The usual. Turkey. Plum pud._

_Did you open my present, yet? SH_

_No. Saving it for later._

_It’s not much. Don’t be disappointed. SH_

_I won’t be. Did you open mine?_

_A boxed set of Glee. Just what I needed. SH_

_No—but it will cheer you up._

_I very much doubt it. But I am assured it is the thought that counts. Thank you for the thought, Molly. SH_

_Yeah. Have a good one, Sherlock._

_You, too, Molly. SH_

_Don’t bug out on the party, Sherlock._

_I won’t. We only have one spare tyre for the Rover. SH_

_See you in the morgue Monday._

_And you. SH_

_Happy Christmas._

_Yes. I think we can hang up now. SH_

_Yeah. Take care, Sherlock._

_I will, Molly. You, too. SH_

_I will. Bye._

_I’m hanging up, now, Molly. SH_

_I know. But—take care of yourself._

_Hanging up. SH_

_Molly—I do love you. I’m sorry it’s not the right kind of love,_ he typed, then deleted it. Instead he just typed in: _< 3 SH _and closed the connection quickly.

The truth was she would never be the kind of person who would understand Mycroft shooting out his tyres…and she needed to be.

He closed his eyes, and sighed, then opened them and made the next call.

_Happy Christmas, Hudders. SH_

_Oh, Sherlock! You’re awake already! Fancy that!_

_Mycroft is holding me captive, Hudders. SH_

_Oh, you boys. Forever fooling._

_He shot the tyres out of my car last night. SH_

_You probably deserved it. What were you doing—running away from the party?_

_You know me too well. SH_

_Shame on you. And he’s worked so hard._

_He should have invited you. I’m sure you would have been a big help. SH_

_Mrs. Turner and I are visting my sister…quite enough party planning for the three of us._

_I’m sure. Tree, stockings, plum pud. The good old rules and customs. SH_

_Well, actually, dancing last night, reservations at Padma’s Lotus Blossom for dinner._

_Then a quite night by the fire? SH_

_We’re going to watch that cute Martin Freeman in the last section of the Hobbit, dear._

_A nice night out with the girls. SH_

_Not exactly, dear. We have dates and are going out for drinks after._

He laughed.

_Janine is here. SH_

_Good. Do something about it._

_I dare not ask what you want me to do. SH_

_No. You dare not. But do it anyway._

_Did you open my present? SH_

_Yes, dear. Isn’t it lovely I like mince pie? The gift certificate will come in handy. But ten pies…_

_I’ll help eat them. SH_

_I’m sure you will, dear. Did you open my present?_

_Yes—though I have no idea what you expect me to do with a tea service. SH_

_I’m not your housekeeper, dear. I suggest you learn to make tea with it._

_Later. Too busy right now. Happy Christmas, Hudders. SH_

_Happy Christmas to you, dear._

_See you Sunday night? SH_

_Well. Maybe. Depending on how dinner and drinks go._

He laughed again.

_I shall wish you the best—and help see him to the electric chair if he’s less than the best. SH_

_You’re such a helpful boy, Sherlock Ta, now._

_Laters, Hudders. I love you. SH_

_I love you, too, dear._

He smiled down at the phone in his hands, reviewing the text chain. Dear Hudders. He hoped she hadn’t hooked up with anyone dangerous. She had a terrible habit of choosing bigamists and black marketeers and similar. But—he’d take care of her if she’d picked badly again. And in the meantime she would get to go out with her sister and her friend for a date and drinks after…

One more text to send…

_Happy Christmas, duckie. SH_

_Sherlock, go away. I’m sleeping._

_But it’s Christmas! Where’s your Christmas spirit? SH_

_Chilling in the freezer and I’m not planning on serving it till this evening, with caviar._

_Smirnov’s? SH_

_U’luvka._

_You’re still in Poland? SH_

_Can’t tell you. Someone would have me shot._

_Just like he shot my tyres out last night. All four of them. Clear through. SH_

_Mmmm-hmmmm. You were driving the getaway car?_

_In a sense. Trying to escape the family Christmas party. SH_

_Tsk-tsk. But just think—you could be in Poland, blowing up another building._

_There is that. But the aftermath was fun. SH_

_No, Sherlock—it was climatic, but that’s rather different. Now, hang up, dear. I want to get some more sleep._

_Did you get my present? SH_

_The custom toy? Yes._

_Like it? SH_

_Well—my client did. He found it rather shocking, though._

_Five million volts? I should think so. SH_

_You do know what I like. And you—did you get my present?_

_Yes. I’ll let you know when I solve it. SH_

_You mean you haven’t already?_

_I’ve been busy. Family party, remember? SH_

_And? What else?_

_Nosy. SH_

_Yes. Animal, vegetable, or mineral?_

_Not telling. SH_

_Ah—a lover! How marvelous. When are you telling Mycroft?_

_She’s part of why he shot out my tyres. I think he’s got a bet down at the bookie or something. SH_

_Is she nice to kiss?_

_Nosy. SH_

_Good. Have fun, Sherlock. Happy Christmas._

_You, too, Irene. Enjoy the vodka and caviar. SH_

_And you enjoy the party and kiss the girl. Remember, when in doubt, look for mistletoe._

_Goodbye, Irene. SH_

_Goodbye, Sherlock._

When he was done he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, and thought of all the women in his life. Mummy and Mary. Little Em. Hudders. Molly. Irene.

Janine....

His life had become complicated.

Oddly, he found he liked it that way.


End file.
